


Teeth

by GallicGalaxy



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mildly Violent Sex, This Is STUPID, Vampire Bites, Vampire Sex, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 04:17:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5115485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallicGalaxy/pseuds/GallicGalaxy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I used Halloween as an excuse to write homoerotic vampire fanfiction, basically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> So much for my elegant summaries eyyyy  
> WELL I wrote this in like three days bc I wanted to get it posted by Halloween, and once again I stayed up wayyyy too early in order to finish it. So I wish a 3spoopy5me Halloween (Or just a Happy Halloween) to those of you who celebrate it >:3  
> Now, onto the vampire sex. The ironic thing is that this dumb vampire fic has more to do with the Outlast canon than any other Eddie/Waylon fic I've written. It begins as Waylon is still fleeing from Eddie, as he does in canon, and even includes the bit with Eddie taking the locker. But then comes the canon divergence; I won't spoil it entirely, I'll let y'all read it for yourselves ;-)  
> There is blood, some depictions of viscera on the side because this is Outlast, and dubious consent because Waylon was questionably under the influence of vampire hypnosis (??? Don't question it) when he agreed to have sex with Eddie, and I don't think he directly provided verbal consent.  
> //Happy Halloween have some vampire asylum husbands//

Waylon had seen him before. Somewhere, somehow. Probably in the engine.

But it didn't really matter who he was; Waylon didn't want a confrontation with _anyone_ in this asylum. Virtually nothing good could've come of an encounter with a crazed, abused mental patient, especially one who recognized him.

Waylon ducked underneath a nearby table, hoping that he could be stealthy enough to get around this guy without actually getting caught. Maybe, if he was exceptionally lucky, without getting noticed at all.

Too late. He could already hear heavy footsteps, from somewhere that was too close for comfort. He crawled as slowly as possible across the floor, peeking through his viewfinder to clear away a bit of the heavy darkness. It was both his ally and his enemy; it could help him stay concealed, but it was only thanks to this little video camera that he could see in the dark at all. His view was limited, and his other senses were dull and simple.

The footsteps came closer, heavy with long intervals. His would-be hunter didn't feel the need to move too quickly, but judging by how tall he'd appeared, he was most likely correct in that assumption. Waylon remembered the face, at least vaguely, but not the name. Too many had come and gone in the time Waylon had spent working here. But this one was recent, he thought. He should have remembered it.

He was doing good at being quiet, trying not to listen to what this vaguely familiar man was aimlessly saying into the darkness. Something sinisterly vague about filling Waylon up, which, based on the evidence he'd seen, sounded very unpleasant. But it was strange how kind he sounded when he said it, how welcoming his delusions made him seem.

He had a nice voice. A low, gentle voice. It was a shame it belonged to a madman.

Waylon froze in place. He was much closer to being in the clear, but his pursuer was too near for Waylon to risk further movement. He heard his heart pound in his ears, but he locked his jaw and lowered his breathing, staying as silent as possible.

“I can...smell you, darling.” The semi-familiar former inmate purred. He pulled his lip back a little, in a strange gesture, as though he was both confused and profoundly excited by the fact that he could _smell_ Waylon. This was at least the second time Waylon had been told that today. Maybe he smelled more intensely than he thought. “Oh, I can smell you over everything. You smell so _lovely_. I wish you wouldn't hide from me.” He half-growled, licking his teeth.

Waylon had heard the babbling variant from earlier, Dennis or whatever his name was, mention a name. Gluskin. The Groom. The Man Downstairs. This must have been him, and now Waylon was beginning to fully realize his mistake.

Gluskin. Eddie Gluskin. Waylon remembered him now. A patient. He saw visions of a fearful, panicked face, Eddie begging desperately for Waylon to save him. To stop the engine.

It was only fortunate Eddie didn't remember where precisely _he'd_ seen Waylon before. Thank god for small favors.

Waylon managed to move again, as quickly as possible, as quietly as possible. He heard Eddie draw in a deep breath from maybe two feet away. Waylon sprang to his feet and started off rapidly, vaulting over a table and launching himself forward in the hope of gaining a bit of ground. Eddie made a strange growling noise and took off after him.

Waylon ran aimlessly, pausing only slightly when he thought he was ahead, but he could still hear Eddie's voice pursuing him.

“ _Even these idiots and lunatics see it. There's something special about you. On the surface._ ” The distant voice hissed, accompanied by a few rough breaths. Waylon sprinted through a clear spot, blinking off his camera's night vision. “ _But when they look deeper, when anyone with eyes to see looks at what you truly are._ ” At this point, Waylon didn't want to know what he 'truly' was. It was a question better left unasked. “ _That's why they don't trust you. You're not what you're meant to be. Not yet._ ”

Waylon could hear Eddie making a noise like panting, sniffing curiously into the uneven darkness. He was still wondering what it was about Eddie's sense of smell that was setting him after Waylon so intensely. Waylon didn't think he had that noticeable of a smell...did he? If he did, it could certainly put a negative effect on his ability to run away.

Waylon pressed on, a fleeing rabbit, taking whichever path he could. Eddie was always too close to him, his massively long legs causing him to require little effort in order to move as fast or even faster than Waylon. Waylon took off down a narrow pathway, searching for an escape.

He couldn't run. He was caught in a veritable dead end. So, he had to hide. Immediately. He whipped his head back and forth, looking for anywhere Eddie might not find him.

A locker. Ideal. Waylon wrenched open the locker's door and slammed himself inside it, trying to hold his breath.

“You can't hide from me, darling.” Eddie almost laughed. He sniffed again. “I can still smell you.” Waylon saw him approach, he heard him lock down the locker. Waylon was practically petrified with fear at this point, a terrible, gripping helplessness washing over him. He panted in terror as he felt the entirety of the locker shift, now lying on the floor, with Waylon facing the blacknessof the ceiling.

“You make yourself a gift for me.” Eddie almost praised, leaning over the locker. “A delicacy to be unwrapped...and unwrapped again. And _savored_.” Eddie spat the word 'savored', a tiny bit of a lisp clinging to his tongue.

From here, Waylon at last had a very clear view of Eddie's face. The first thing he noticed, as Eddie's lips parted in speech, was that Eddie had...very large canine teeth. Like fangs, almost. As though he was under some delusion that he was a vampire.

As if this couldn't have gotten any more ridiculous. Now the Groom himself had vampire teeth. For a moment, Waylon legitimately considered that he might have been a real vampire. Honestly, it would only have been a tiny bit surprising compared to everything else that had gone on in this twisted place. But it was nonsense; vampires didn't exist. Of course, it also occurred to him that most fictional characters he'd seen in a situation like this performed the exact same ritual of denial.

Now he was confused on top of being terrified. Maybe this was all some elaborate prank.

He wasn't paying attention until he felt the locker move. Oh. Naturally, Eddie was carrying the locker. Like you do.

Waylon found himself distracted from pondering how anyone would set up such an elaborate asylum-based vampire prank to being in awe of Eddie's sheer physical strength. Did vampires have super-strength? Maybe.

Waylon saw the ceiling change above him. He was still not fully paying attention to what Eddie was saying. Something about a woman. He was gazing into the blinding ceiling lights and wondering how there may have been a vampire in Mount Massive and nobody had noticed. Or, it was possible that somebody  _would have_ known, but that Waylon just didn't have the kind of clearance necessary to receive said information.

Eddie halted the locker's progress again, hovering over Waylon and babbling about having a family. Clearly, something had been lost in translation. But while Waylon was listening, he noticed a second thing.

It was partially that Eddie had beautiful eyes, blue eyes, clouded with an odd shade of red. What was truly distinct about them was that they were mesmerizing; Waylon found himself unable to look away from them, and the look in his eyes was strangely...hypnotizing. Waylon felt his muscles start to relax a little, even though he hadn't made them do so voluntarily.

Waylon laid in a state of suspended calmness as Eddie urged the locker forward once more. When he finally propped the locker up again, they were in some sort of torture chamber, with limbs hanging from the ceiling and a few corpses with horribly mutilated genitals strewn about. The centerpiece was a large table, filthy with blood and equipped with an industrial circular saw. Waylon wondered what purpose it could have possibly served, even in the maintenance level, prior to the outbreak.

Eddie pushed his fingers gently through the warped grate on the front of the locker, interrupting Waylon's irrelevant train of thought. Eddie was visibly slavering, hot saliva leaking out over his chin. He smiled a frightening smile, a big bad wolf smile, an 'oh Eddie what big teeth you have' smile. Waylon was growing increasingly more aware of how long Eddie's canine teeth were. He returned to thinking about vampires.

It would almost stand to reason that Eddie was an actual vampire, what with having been able to smell Waylon and drooling so profusely as he inhaled Waylon's scent.

“I know you must be as eager as I am to consummate our love.” Eddie began, in a strained sort of voice. There was something he was craving, so intensely it required physical effort to hold himself back. “Oh, I can hardly wait.” He added. Waylon could feel the faint heat of Eddie's breath hit his face. Eddie licked his lips and set a tiny stream of spit flying off in some direction Waylon couldn't see. “I shouldn't be so hasty...” Eddie sighed at himself, crouching down a little in order to open the locker. Waylon couldn't help but focus on his eyes, bright and entrancing. His gaze was unnaturally soothing, calming Waylon even though he had no reason to be calm.

For a split second, Waylon was devising some sort of crack plan to sprint away the second Eddie opened the door. But the second Eddie opened the door, he seized Waylon by his outfit and spun him around, slamming him down on the table behind them. Fortunately, he'd managed to avoid impaling Waylon on the enormous circular saw blade.

The first thing Waylon felt was something slithering along his neck, following the path of his jugular vein. This gesture repeated itself, bearing down on Waylon's tender, fragile flesh. Eddie was licking his neck.

Waylon was still worrying about the fact that Eddie was some approximation of a vampire, real or imagined. But he didn't seem to be hostile, not even grazing Waylon's neck with his teeth. Just running his tongue along the side of his throat, pausing to press his lips to it and leave a strangely hot trail of kisses along Waylon's neck. He was tasting Waylon's pulse, feeling the lifeblood beneath the skin steadily thrum throughout his body.

There was something oddly innately _arousing_ about it all. Waylon's neck was an erogenous zone; he had no control over this fact. Sensations like that felt by his neck were automatically channeled down his spine, sending tiny little impulses to his sex. His body was aroused with no input from conscious thought.

Eddie paused and sniffed deeply again, blinking as though he could sense Waylon's very reaction. “Oh, darling.” Eddie growled lowly, smiling a sinister smile. “What a lovely smell you're giving off...” He gave Waylon's neck another long, slow, experimental lick, following through this time by chewing gently on Waylon's ear. Waylon stifled a noise that would have been a moan, but was simply channeled into a restrained grunt. “I can smell it on you. Your sluttish thoughts. You want me to take you right now, you easy little whore.” Waylon's shoulders tensed, but the look in Eddie's narrowed eyes made him forget just about everything he could've used to argue. “Oh, yes. You want to welcome me while your body is still vulgar. You can't wait for it.”

Eddie's low voice was absolutely gorgeous, in the same vein of 'uncontrollably arousing'. There was something accusatory about it, but not quite disdainful, a very 'you've been a _bad boy_ ' tone of voice. Waylon could feel it in his chest, the sensuality of Eddie's deceptive manner of speaking.

His lips locked with Eddie's, those strong hands still wrapped loosely around his wrists and pinning him to the table. It was a deep, ravenous kiss, the kind of kiss you gave when you wanted to fuck someone _now_ , _right now_. Eddie rubbed his teeth against Waylon's like their kiss was somehow equivalent to a fang-fight. Waylon's reaction was to part his teeth, which was either the best move of his life or the worst move of his life.

Eddie's tongue invaded his mouth, immediately and demandingly, almost shocking Waylon for a moment. But he didn't resist. Something must have been wrong with him. As a matter of fact, Waylon soon began to reciprocate, giving in the turn he was getting, courting Eddie's tongue with his own. Their kiss was now more tongue than lip, their mouths separating erratically and allowing Waylon to release a few decidedly pleased moans.

When Eddie finally pulled away, Waylon whimpered in dissatisfaction. His opened eyes fell upon a thin, glistening strand of spit that had been almost meticulously drawn between their lips. Waylon had honestly thought that the 'spit strand' was something that only occurred in bad fanfictions. Apparently, he just hadn't been kissed the right way before.

“You taste...almost as good as you smell, my dear.” Eddie panted. Those beautiful eyes were a trap. They must have been. He was sending some sort of telepathic signal to Waylon's brain, putting thoughts that were not his on inside his head. That's why he was so easy all of a sudden.

His own attempt at convincing himself that hypnosis would not make this okay was interrupted by Eddie beginning to take off the very jumpsuit Waylon had been thrown into not too long prior to this little venture into insanity. Eddie seemed to have a knack for breaking Waylon's train of thought.

He felt the front of his jumpsuit start to come open, releasing some of his suppressed body heat. It was blissful until he realized that he could very quickly be  _naked_ , naked in front of Eddie, and naked beneath him. For some reason, the idea that the logical conclusion to this whole situation was sex hadn't fully occurred to him. That was stupid. Eddie had already mentioned it; he'd already declared his intentions.

But Waylon hadn't tried to stop him. On the contrary, he'd  _encouraged_ him. He'd moaned and kissed him back, he'd done nothing at all to deny Eddie's accusation that he wanted it.

Did he want it?

His mind was trying to say no; something in his brain was telling him that this was a bad idea, the worst idea, that there was no reason in Hell or on Earth that he should let it happen. His body, however, was ardently disagreeing. He was aroused. He shouldn't have been, and it was a wildly inappropriate reaction, but oh god was he aroused. He felt a pounding sensation in his member and abruptly came to realize that he'd gotten hard.  Eddie had made him hard.

“I can tell you want me, darling.” Eddie chuffed. His hands temporarily released Waylon's wrists, but Waylon, still in a daze, barely even noticed until he heard Eddie's belt buckle click open. Anticipation raced up Waylon's spine, dizzying his head even further. His mouth lolled open uncontrollably.

He wanted it. He didn't want to want it, but he wanted it nonetheless. And then he was confusing himself at this point.

Eddie smirked down at him, an expression of what could only be described as playful contempt. He pushed his hand down into Waylon's jumpsuit, drawing out his stiff erection. Waylon whined, his fingers wracked with spasms, as Eddie slowly rubbed his cock. It felt good, so wonderfully good. Euphoric, almost. He noticed that Eddie's hands were a little cold, even though his face had been warm, and his core seemed at least fairly warm.

Eddie shoved his free hand down his pants, releasing Waylon's member as he prepared to release his own. Waylon gritted his teeth. Eddie grinned, his fangs shining beneath the harsh light, and in one swift motion he jerked his pants away from his cock and wriggled his shoulders proudly, like he was showing off.

All Waylon could think of was that he was  _big_ . He shouldn't have expected anything else, but honestly he hadn't really known what he expected in the first place. Eddie gave his impressive cock a few prolonged, luxurious strokes, knowing that Waylon was watching him.

Eddie pressed the head of his cock against Waylon's, easing him into the act of rubbing them together. Waylon groaned and leaned his head back, his body's lusty state of surrender overcoming his mind's words of warning.

“You like that?” Eddie almost snarled. “Ohh, I know you like that. I can smell your desire.” Waylon moaned even louder as Eddie shifted their sexes against each other, every nerve in his body aching for more.

Eddie leaned over Waylon, making as if to tease his neck again, but he arched his back and brought his mouth down to Waylon's nipples instead. What felt like sparks surged through Waylon's body the moment Eddie sucked upwards on his nipple, that talented tongue rubbing against it, his teeth coming down just enough to barely graze Waylon's nipple and make his muscles tense in anticipation of pain.

Eddie moved on to Waylon's other nipple all too quickly, but Waylon didn't even have a moment to complain before he was enveloped in the same feeling all over again. He could feel Eddie slavering continuously, in eagerness for something that may have been more than just sex.

Eddie panted heavily when he released Waylon, lifting his head again. He began roughly and unceremoniously stripping Waylon's jumpsuit off of him, yanking it over his arms and peeling it down below his thighs. Waylon shifted his legs, using his foot to pull his jumpsuit off of at least one of his ankles so that he could keep his legs spread.

Eddie ran his hand along Waylon's leg, gently stroking his inner thigh. His shifted his hips and pressed the head of his cock against Waylon's entrance, his face plastered in a smug little grin. Waylon took a deep breath and wrapped his legs around Eddie's waist, silently begging for him.

“Now, this will hurt.” Eddie declared, his voice laden with self-satisfied humor. He shoved a few of his fingers into his mouth, drooling on them more than licking them, and hastily tried to force at least two of them past Waylon's entrance at once. Waylon gritted his teeth as tightly as possible, water glistening at the corners of his eyes. At least Eddie had the sense to provide a little bit of preparation; that was better than none, at least. Sort of.

Eddie chuckled to himself, trying to work his fingers in as quickly as possible. Waylon let a few strained groans escape his lips, eager to have Eddie inside him but discontent with his roughness. Eddie pulled his fingers out as hastily as he'd forced them in, making Waylon whine loudly at the sensation of being empty.

Eddie chuckled one last time, a stray drop of spit falling onto his bowtie from between his knitted fangs. He pushed into Waylon's body on a single, powerful thrust, Waylon's ensuing cry sounding like music to his ears. 

Waylon wanted it now, he wanted it all right now. His whole body was pulsing with energy, Eddie's cold eyes shooting lightning into his veins. It didn't matter whether or not he was hypnotized; nothing mattered now that Eddie was shattering him from within. Eddie shoved his hips forward again, his tiny smirk widening into an almost sadistic grin. “Oh yes, yes Eddie.” Waylon panted, still faintly wondering what it was that had inspired this irrational lust.

“Hmm, hold on a second, darling. How do you know my name?” Eddie asked, cocking his head.

_Shit._ Waylon widened his eyes, trying to think of some excuse. “I...I don't know...” Was all he managed to stammer. “I suppose I remember it from some time when I saw you...before.” Eddie seemed to accept this, at the very least for the moment.

“What's your name, then?” Eddie continued casually. A few effortless thrusts of his hips has Waylon seeing stars already.

“Ahhha...Waylon...” Waylon choked unevenly. “Waylon Park.” Eddie nodded in acknowledgment. Waylon tightened his legs around Eddie's waist, craving more in a way he never imagined he would. 

What seemed to surprise Waylon most was that it felt so good. It felt good, despite the aching pain it left in his body, and somehow he'd lived his entire adult life without experiencing it. He felt virginal, with this man shoving into his untouched body. He'd never, never in his life had sex with another man, and this was not how he'd imagined his first time would go.

There was a spot that Eddie's thrusts were pushing against, a particular point that made Waylon feel pressure, a sweet lurch of pleasure that jolted up through his cock. It was the kind of sensation that made him almost hiccup in pleasure. On top of that, every single low, sultry chuckle of amusement Eddie uttered at Waylon's ease was near tormentingly alluring.

God, he was beautiful. Strong, powerful, a hulking Greek god of a man. He shouldn't have been beautiful; he was insane, unstable, he'd killed and mutilated people. He was dangerous, and those shimmering fangs served as a constant reminder of this fact – as well as a constant re-introduction of the nagging thought that something was still off about this whole 'vampire' scenario.

Someone so deadly and remorseless shouldn't have been allowed to be so gorgeous, so potent, so unbelievably virile and sexually adept that he didn't even have to exert effort to push Waylon's fragile body to the point where he felt like he was going to finish all too quickly. Or he might have finished, had he been provided with any form of pleasure aside from the steadily deepening shoves against his sweet spot.

He wanted to beg, but he didn't know how Eddie would respond to it. He seemed like he would enjoy the lyrical sound of his partner begging.

“Eddie...” Waylon gasped, far more weakly than he'd intended. “Eddie...I...I need you to...” His tongue flickered uselessly against his teeth, his brain struggling to formulate a sentence.

“Need me to what, darling?” Eddie asked sweetly. Waylon breathed hoarsely, words failing before they even hit his tongue. He squeaked loudly and wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking himself vigorously, face flushed, a steady whine rolling out from his lungs. Eddie laughed deeply, his broad chest wavering.

He pushed Waylon's hands away from his shaft, wrapping his enormous fingers around it and giving him a few slow, easy strokes. Waylon felt like his insides were made of wax, melting within him and shifting fluidly with every movement. He moaned noisily, his throat tightening and adding in a variety of different notes.

“Is that what you wanted?” Eddie taunted. Waylon sank his fingernails into his palms. He felt like he was going to come already. He gnashed his teeth, trying to hold it back. Eddie bared his teeth as he slid his hand along Waylon's throbbing member.

Eddie's fingers danced over Waylon's cock, testing different methods with his fingers, toying with Waylon like a cat batting at a grounded bird and wondering whether or not to kill it. Waylon sniveled pathetically, heat beating violently against the wall of his chest. He felt his eyes roll back almost uncontrollably, his legs shifting restlessly.

“Already, darling?” Eddie murmured, mostly to himself by the sound of it. Waylon moaned, the tiny noise arcing and increasing rapidly in volume. Eddie rubbed his thumb against the underside of Waylon's sex, his face betraying his satisfaction as Waylon sank his knees into Eddie's ribs and came. Waylon forced out a wordless cry, almost a screech once it reached its peak.

Eddie kept pushing through Waylon's orgasm, that husky-voiced chuckle taunting him eternally. Waylon was seeing stars, his climax still ringing through every single one of his nerves. And Eddie was still hitting the spot, still pounding into Waylon's limp body. Waylon didn't even have a second to regain himself. 

Eddie lunged down, wrapping his mouth around one of Waylon's pectoral muscles again. He pleasured Waylon's nipple with his tongue, but that was merely a distraction. He sank his teeth into the surrounding flesh, still licking his nipple at the same time. Waylon let out an exclamation of pain as he felt Eddie's sharp teeth test the limits of his skin. He was locked in sharp pain and pervasive pleasure at the same time.

Eddie released him with a deep sigh. He smiled, but it didn't look like a real smile. It seemed more like some predatory reaction, some instinctual behavior that Waylon just interpreted as a smile. Perhaps he wasn't smiling so much as unsheathing his teeth. Waylon's hand darted towards Eddie's hair, searching for stability, but Eddie caught Waylon's wrist in his cold hand and brought it to his mouth. He wrapped his jaws around Waylon's wrist, sinking his teeth back into his flesh. Waylon groaned in agony, certain that he had felt Eddie's fangs break the skin.

Eddie let his jaws fall open, and Waylon could see the deep indentations in his own wrist. Blood had bubbled to the surface where his huge fangs had immersed themselves. Eddie's nostrils flared, pupils blown and blue eyes almost glowing. He had tasted it, the blood, and the hunger was flashing in his eyes. He shoved deeper, his hips thumping against Waylon rapidly. Waylon cried out again, his body aching.

“Eddie...you're...too deep.” Waylon attempted to gasp, eyelids fluttering. Eddie seemed to mostly ignore him, stopping for a mere moment to lift one of his knees up onto the table. He then jumped upwards, putting both of his knees on the table and half-forcing Waylon off of it.

Eddie's eyes were wide, thrusting quickly and irreverently into Waylon's deepest spot, feeling Waylon shake like a leaf in a storm. He panted loudly, teeth parting, slavering like a rabid dog. Waylon's eyes widened in fear.

Eddie lunged forward again, his jaw parting and his teeth coming down on Waylon's throat.

Waylon had no time to think. Not a second before Eddie's teeth burst his veins.

The conflicting thing was that, at the same time Waylon felt Eddie suck his vital lifeblood from the wound he had inflicted, Eddie came. He moaned viciously, like he was climaxing over some sort of ambrosial taste that was beyond the bounds of men. The vibrations from Eddie's fervent moans weaved into the deepening holes in Waylon's neck and traveled on his heartbeat, pulsing straight up into his skull.

He could feel his blood leaving, being actively extracted, at the same time he felt Eddie's seed release into his body. The combination was sickeningly confusing.

Waylon returned to being unable to believe this stupid, stupid vampire joke. This had to be a fever dream of some sort. But no, no fever dream was ever this vivid, this panicking. His head felt light, his eyes hazy, and he realized that he was going to die _._

He tried to speak, but all that happened was that blood spurted from his throat into his mouth with a choking gurgle. He found himself remembering the fable of the scorpion and the frog, and almost smiled in disbelief at the idea that it would be the last thing he remembered. Foolish love, foolish lust. Blind trust. Doubting the nature of a predator for but one vulnerable moment.

Eddie opened his eyes, looking up at Waylon, and fear shone like a beacon in his eyes. He loosed his grip for a moment, but then clamped his eyes shut and sank his teeth back in. Waylon then felt something that was not blood flow back into his veins from Eddie's very teeth.

It made him feel cold, whatever it was. As his pulse beat weakly, he felt the cold start to flow through his body, making haste up into his skull. He was certain it was some sort of venom, some new addition to this jumbled list of potential vampire powers. And it was killing him.

Eddie was killing him.

Waylon's head spun for another moment before the blackness and the coldness overtook him,

But he woke up. He hadn't expected to, but he woke up. He blinked a few times, because it had gotten strangely brighter in here. Maybe daylight was coming in from somewhere.

He sat up tentatively, still a little shaky, his body edged with the sort of sore fragility one feels when they wake up after a surgery. He looked down at his hands, as though to confirm that he was indeed real.

They were pale. So pale. But he couldn't see his veins through his skin, not even a little. There was only faint suggestion of a vein somewhere deep in his wrist. Not mark where Eddie's teeth had been.

Maybe he was dead.

As he sat there, he was overcome by another new sensation: smell. He could still smell the lingering reek of rot and rust, but he'd never known that smells so simple and repulsive had so many _layers_. Layers, indeed. Each smell was no longer one, but many. The smell of blood was comprised of everyone's blood, blood from a hundred different people maybe. He could smell dozens of different bodies and tell what state of decay they were in; he could smell what blood was fresh and what was old.

He could smell something cold and musty that he had never been able to give a name to, and lingering on his jumpsuit (He'd woken up clothed and clean, oddly enough) was a _gorgeous_ smell. He pulled a scrap of his patient's jumpsuit up to his nose. It was rich, warm, heavy, just a little musky, seasoned with traces of sweat. It was intense, but in no way unpleasant. It was actually attractive.

And there was something about that blood smell. It wasn't the metallic, frightening smell of viscera he'd known before. It was a warm smell as well, a sort of spicy, savory odor. The countless blood scents were individually tinged with that cold smell – fear, he thought it was – and a unique sort of human smell. He could smell the individual people, mingling with each other, with fear and blood and death.

Waylon inhaled all the smells again, fascinated by how quickly and precisely he was able to identify them all. He sprang to his feet, marveling at his own agility. His body felt light, light in a way it never had before. Light like his body had lost something he'd never known he could lose and survive without. Some cumbersome weight had simply evaporated from his being and he was free, free to move in a way that he had never been able to.

He sniffed at his outfit again, inhaling that beautiful smell. It made him thirsty in a way he had never felt before. His tongue felt cold and dry, and something tickled the back of his throat. It contracted a little, uncontrollably, searching to swallow something that wasn't present. He swallowed only dry, harsh air.

He was so hungry, so uncontrollably hungry. In addition, there was another urge that was not hunger, and not quite a feeling or a thought either. It was no more complex than hunger or thirst or the urge to have sex: a simple, primitive impulse. It was an unfamiliar bloodlust, a raw desire to search for prey, to track and chase another living thing down and pounce on it; the want to feel some warm, sanguine thing wriggle in your arms and struggle to get away, laced with a hedonistic craving for the satisfaction of remorseless victory as he sank his teeth into it and felt it die.

The smell of blood almost hurt him, made something deep in his core pull at his esophagus and wail for sustenance. Waylon looked up, seeing countless dripping limbs hanging from chains. There was blood on everything. Blood on the table, on the floor, on the walls. Dry blood, stale blood, fresh blood.

Waylon's feet lurched him towards the viscera, the stiffened arms swaying from rusted chains. His nose sought the absolute freshest there could have been. It was a forearm, a small portion of flesh – still not fresh, but as close as he could get. He wrenched it from its hook with no regard, his complex thoughts dead and empty in the face of this primeval hunger. It wasn't really what he wanted; what he wanted was to hunt and kill someone and drink them fresh, while they were still living and writhing.

He sank his teeth into the cooled, tense flesh. It almost crunched under his incisors as he searched for anything still vaguely warm. He didn't care about the meat, all he wanted was the blood. He felt it stream into his mouth, cold and unappetizing. It had been flavored with some undesirable, icy smell. He pulled away a chunk of human flesh, bouncing the spongy tissue around on his tongue and pinching it with his back teeth to coax more juice from it. He felt a dash of relief, the pain in his tongue subsiding a little. He let the blood trickle down the back of his throat, despite how cold and unsatisfying it was. It wasn't quite what he wanted, but it was sustenance and that was all that mattered.

Waylon chewed slightly, feeling almost disgusted by the way his teeth bounced off the hunk of meat in his mouth. He spat it out, pale and empty, and then proceeded to vigorously lick the stump of the severed forearm. He nicked it with his teeth to coax as much blood as possible out of it, unclotting it, urging it into his mouth. He was so hungry, and blood was the only thing that was sating it.

He sank his teeth in again, deeper, wriggling his incisors until the next chunk came off behind his teeth. He pressed it to his tongue and savored it, even in such an unappealing state it tasted so delicious. Rich, thick, meaty. He snapped stiffened veins between his molars, feeling blood pop pleasantly into the back of his mouth.

He was too intent on tearing off chunks of flesh and gnawing them dry to pay any attention to his surroundings. He didn't hear the footsteps approach from behind him, nor was he aware enough to identify them.

“Darling...you're awake.” A soft, slurred voice noted, standing just within the flickering light above the saw table.

Waylon's head snapped up, and he whirled around, still holding a fragment of meat in his teeth. Eddie was here. He was still here, of course. There was no reason he _wouldn't_ have been here.

“I'm glad to see you up. I was worried you might have died.” Eddie murmured. He cocked his head, blue eyes shining brightly. Whatever hypnosis he'd used was no longer functioning, for better or for worse.

Waylon realized that he was holding rigid human flesh in his mouth, and a dismembered arm in his hands. He dropped it immediately, collapsing and catching himself on the table, his arms shaking. He released the flesh in his mouth, and it fell to the floor shrouded in cloudy spit. He felt like vomiting, but his previously starved body resisted it with fury.

“Darling?” Eddie sought. Waylon lifted his head, slowly, eyes glassy, and stared up at Eddie.

This was all some sick joke. Some cruel, horrible, badly-thought-out prank. He couldn't think of a reason for it at all, a reason for this elaborate, awful vampire prank. But they'd gone the extra mile, that was certain. Far enough to make him crave human blood, apparently. Waylon's chest heaved, but his sobs felt shallow, like his lungs had shrunk.

“Dear, are you alright?” Eddie questioned, putting on that horrible mockery of concern. He strode forward, laying his hands on Waylon's shoulders. Waylon choked out a hoarse little sob.

“What...what did you...do to me?” Waylon squeaked, gritting his teeth.

“I saved you.” Eddie chuffed indignantly. “Darling, you would have died.” Yes, he would have. But he would have died because of Eddie in the first place.

“ _You_ would have killed me.” Waylon sighed quietly.

“Oh, but darling...” Eddie began. “Don't you see?” Eddie ran his hands down Waylon's arms, caressing them comfortingly. “Now we can be together. Now you will stay just as you are. You don't have to die.” Eddie nuzzled Waylon's neck softly, pressing his nose into Waylon's hair. Waylon felt fear start to creep up into his throat, tightening it even further. The hunger was still there, incompletely filled, his tongue almost writhing as it pleaded for more, more of that which he should not have consumed.

“I know I may have been a bit...out of line. A bit crude.” Eddie murmured, massaging Waylon's arms as he stared at the blood-spattered floor. The mere sight of it made the hunger lurch back into his mouth. “I made a mistake. Hunger can do...terrible things to a man.” Waylon's elbows buckled as he struggled to continue supporting himself. “But now...now we can be  _beautiful_ , you and I.”

Beautiful.

Waylon had to think about it. If this was real, if it was all real, then he couldn't go home. What could he do? Was there any point to escaping, now that he was a monster? 

Eddie raked Waylon's neck with his teeth again. “I didn't want to lose you, darling.” He whispered. “But now...now I will never have to. Now we can be together forever. We'll be married tonight, darling. We'll never have to be apart ever again.” Eddie sounded so happy, so joyous, like there was nothing that would make him happier in the world.

Waylon watched silent tears fall from his eyes and hit the floor. He closed his eyes again, trying to block out the sight of blood and the subsequent desperate hunger that throbbed behind his tongue. How? How had it all come to this?

Was he doomed to become some maniac's vampire wife, living on the blood of his own kind? Or, more correctly...those who had once been his own kind. He wasn't one of them anymore.

He was still waiting for the hidden cameras to come out of the darkness. This couldn't be  _real_ , this was all some elaborate practical joke. He was dreaming all this, he'd passed out in the supply closet and had never even sent that email. He wasn't trapped in some fucked-up vampire asylum universe.

Waylon felt Eddie's fingers run through his hair.

“I know it takes some getting used to, dear, but there's no need to cry.” Eddie assured him. “We're something different, you and I. We're not like the others, those brutish fools who care only about destruction, with no purpose. We have...love. Family. Virtues.” Waylon felt like impaling his head on the massive, bladed saw in front of him.

“Now, you should eat.” Eddie declared, pulling away from Waylon. “Starving yourself will only drive you mad, you know.”

“I...I c-can't.” Waylon sobbed.

“You  _must_ , darling.” Eddie insisted. “I made a mistake in not feeding; you should take that as a warning.” Waylon sobbed again and tried to right himself, his legs trembling as intensely as his arms. “Come on.” Eddie commanded. “I won't even make you hunt, I have someone I'll let you feed on. I suppose I don't need any of those other whores now that I have you, dear.”

Waylon shivered and tried to follow Eddie as he strode away. He didn't know what else he could do at this point, and he was still so helplessly starving he would be willing to follow anyone for the promise of fresh blood.

Eddie led Waylon around the saw-adorned table, and towards another table where he'd restrained a barely-conscious, deformed variant. Eddie stood alertly across from Waylon, gesturing towards his unwilling victim.

“There we are. Someone it doesn't matter if you kill.” Eddie murmured. “Feed, darling.”

“I...” Waylon began, choking up again.

“You can.” Eddie pronounced. “It's not that hard. Just a little bite. You'll feel much better, I promise.” Waylon trembled again, staring down at the nameless variant's twitching, naked body, his rough, mutilated skin, his glassy, half-closed eyes. He had a potent human-smell, a hungering flesh-smell. But Waylon couldn't kill him. He couldn't do it.

The hunger was burning deep within him, his mouth falling open in desperation. The primeval part of his brain, his predator instinct, was urging him forward. Commanding his jaw to close around the variant's soft throat. His mind was resisting, trying to pull him away.

Something something morality. Something something don't do it.

Waylon was still shaking as he brought his mouth down, a few drops of saliva dripping from his desirous fangs. His ravenousness was winning out over conscious thought. He could barely remember opening his jaw, eyes glittering with the proud malice of a predator, and sinking his loathsome fangs into the throat of someone he could never have named. He slammed his eyes shut out of impulse, to lessen the shock to his own mind.

Blood welled up from the bite, spurting over Waylon's desperate tongue. This, this was what he wanted. Warm, slow beats of blood. Fresh, the aroma of fear lessened by the variant's semi-sedated state. Waylon purred through the steady flow of blood, sucking back powerfully to increase its pace. He breathed deeply, and drank and drank until he felt a fullness deep within his center.

Eventually he retracted his teeth, lifting his head. Before his eyes was the variant, almost unquestionably dead. Waylon's teeth had sunk far too deep into his arteries. A good amount of blood had come from the other side of Waylon's teeth, outside of his mouth, now blanketing the wooden table. 

“There, darling.” Eddie sighed in satisfaction. “Don't you feel better now?”

“Y...Yes.” Waylon panted, his chest rippling.

Eddie rounded the table once more, placing his hands on Waylon's waist. He nudged Waylon's face up, claiming his mouth. Waylon felt Eddie's tongue invade his mouth, licking the residual blood from his teeth, managing to avoid scratching his soft tongue on Waylon's young fangs. Eddie pushed their bodies together, sharing what little warmth they had in their cores.

Waylon laid his hands on Eddie's chest, letting himself be kissed deeply until Eddie broke their connection. He felt Eddie's tongue grace his jaw, licking the blood off of his chin and out of his facial hair.

“You're a messy eater, darling.” Eddie teased, smiling a sharp-toothed smile. “Ah, don't worry, it happens. You'll get better at it, I promise. You'll adjust.” Waylon found himself nuzzling Eddie's face, rubbing their scents off on each other. He felt full and warm, content and lazily tired. He was almost unimaginably relieved to have fed at last.

“Oh, you're going to be so beautiful.” Eddie purred. Waylon froze. He was very suddenly recalling the concept of what Eddie had intended to do to him originally, and how many other people he'd done it to before. Being a vampire wasn't going to save him from that kind of agony.

Waylon stepped back a little. He couldn't think of what had inspired him to lean himself against Eddie and let Eddie kiss him, let them share their scents.

“What's wrong, darling?” Eddie mumbled in concern.

“You're...you're going to...” Waylon breathed unevenly.

“Going to do what?” Eddie inquired. Waylon just stared at him, uneasy and unspeaking. “Darling, don't worry. You'll be alright, I assure you.”

Waylon took another step back.

“Darling...” Eddie began, in a warning tone. “Don't leave me. Please, I can't be alone.” Desperation flashed in his sanguine eyes. “We've only just begun, darling. I've only now, at last, found you...found someone who will understand, who can be with me forever. We'll be perfect. Beautiful.” Eddie stepped forward, following Waylon's slight backwards movement.

“They'll never understand.” Eddie huffed. “You could run away to them, but they wouldn't understand. They never understood me, either.” His voice was raising, in desperation, in fear, in unsettling anger. “I promise I'll treat you better than they ever could. Please, darling, don't you see? We will be  _perfect_ .”

Perfect.

But what Eddie was saying had validity, tragically. How could Waylon tell anyone? How could he live among humans again? Knowing he was now a predator and a murderer?

Something strange in the back of his mind was telling him to give it up. Abandon it all and stay here with this bloodthirsty mass murderer. Maybe it was some animal instinct, some imprint, that he hadn't had when he was still a human.

Eddie wrapped his arms around Waylon again, trying to draw him in close. Waylon surrendered; he pressed himself against Eddie's body, he took a few unsteady breaths and listened to how unusual his breath sounded when it bounced against his newfound fangs. 

Waylon had sent that email to the reporter. He had no obligation to get out in that regard. Provided, of course, that Miles Upshur survived this chaos. Some nagging feeling kept telling him that it was better to be with another of his kind than to run off and hide among humans.

Maybe that bite and its freezing venom had affected Waylon's brain. Maybe Eddie had injected some kind of madness into him along with whatever poison had turned Waylon into a vampire.

“Please...stay here.” Eddie begged, kissing Waylon's temple. 

“Only if you promise not to hurt me.” Waylon hissed, surprised at his own assertiveness. Eddie gazed down at him, as though debating it.

“Alright, not on purpose.” Eddie breathed at last. His massive hands brushed Waylon's flanks, descending back down to his hips. “It's almost a shame you're still...so vulgarly equipped, but I'm afraid attempting to cut it away would be a vain effort.”

“Wh...why?” Waylon stammered.

“You're one of my kind now, dear. A vampire.” Eddie replied. “It would all just...grow back. I'm aware of that much.”

Add that to Waylon's running list of seemingly arbitrary abilities: regeneration. If Eddie was to be trusted in that regard. He seemed to be slightly more attached to reality on the subject of vampirism and its attributes, which was truly ironic. 

“But I suppose there is something to be said for a beautiful soul.” Eddie continued, with resignation. “They say that love can overcome all obstacles. And you seem to have faith in love, my dear.”

_Sure, let's go with that._ Waylon thought. Eddie tucked Waylon's head under his chin.

“You know, I am excited for us, darling.” Eddie purred happily. “We will be married. As soon as possible. Then we'll have a house, a home, a family. We'll have prey as far as the eye can see. We'll hunt, and feed, and take care of each other. And we will  _never_ have to part.”

Waylon let Eddie nuzzle him again, enjoying his smell and feeling a pang of excitement at the thought of having that smell shared with him, the thought that someone could smell one's scent on the other and know who they belonged to. That he was marked. That was a good word, marked.

Waylon made a rough chuckling noise, oddly content with his situation. This was all so outlandish and unexpected that he couldn't do much except go along with it. Perhaps it was some vampire pheromone, some airborne disease of madness, or maybe he was still hypnotized. 

Waylon Park: crazed vampire asylum housewife. It had a nice sound to it.

 


End file.
